


Do Not Go Gentle

by kijikun



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst, DJD - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loss of Virginity, M/M, MTMTE 50 spoilers, Megatron and poetry, Post-The Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye Issue 50 (IDW), Spark Sexual Interfacing, Spoilers, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, sorta - Freeform, spark merge, valve plug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kijikun/pseuds/kijikun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus has a last request. Megatron fulfills it.  Only it's so much more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Do Not Go Gentle

 

 

In the grasp of the DJD, in the clutches of those that once faithful ( _fanatically_ ) served ( _worshiped_ ) him, Megatron expected a great many things. Willingly he'd submitted himself to Tarn and the others in a slim hope that those crew that had been doomed with him might be spared _(Rodimus, Ravage, Magnus, Velocity --)_. He'd expected ( _craved_ ) torture, pain ( _justice_ ). 

He'd gotten just that. Hot pricks of pain through his sensornet building like a crescendo and ringing his audials ( _Tarn)._ Crackle of a sick painful mockery of charge dancing across his plating and down to the protoform ( _Kaon_ ). 

Brief kliks where the pain was nothing but a ghost to his sensors, a glimpse of a minibot. _"You'll offline him too fast if you keep that up, Tarn!"_ Then it built again.

_(You earned this.)_

Then nothing.

Megatron's optics rebooted ( _were allowed to reboot, worse when you can't see it coming)_ to find Tarn's face hovering above him. "The youngling Prime made a last request involving you, _my lord,_ " Tarn purred out, all mockery and seething anger in his field. Pain sparked across Megatron's sensornet for the kliks it took Tarn to speak. "Enjoy, though know we'll be watching."

Then Tarn was gone. As were the _(unneeded)_ restraints on his wrists. 

Megatron forced himself into a sitting position. Youngling Prime? It took his processor an embarrassing number of kliks to stop thinking _Optimus_ and realize _Rodimus._

He'd been keeping Rodimus _(soft smiles, warm touches, welcoming field, kindness undeserved, all of it undeserved)_ from his processor. There were no telepaths among the current DJD, but he'd already endangered Rodimus and the others enough -- he would not give Rodimus to them on a platter as a way to hurt him further. 

"You look like slag," Rodimus said with false brightness. "But that's kinda normal for you, Megs."

Megatron's helm jerked towards the door of the room. Rodimus stood there, door closed behind him, looking -- 

His plating was blackened in places, but he looked mostly unharmed. Megatron was almost afraid to look too closely. 

"What are you doing here, Rodimus?" He clenched his hands into fists, to keep from reaching out. He had no right and Rodimus wasn't his. 

Rodimus strode forward. "See, they gave a set amount of time before we’re dead. Making us do vids of what we want done with our frames after, the sickos - well done, by the way, on making a torture squad the ol' Senate would have been proud of," Rodimus told him, tone as defeated as the feeling pulsing through the field that reached out to him. Megatron flinched at the words, even as Rodimus’ field pushed regret against his own. "Told them I wouldn't do one unless they let me have one last booty call."

"What -- " Megatron started to demand, only to be cut off by Rodimus' mouth.

Rodimus smoothly straddled Megatron's lap, before breaking the kiss. "C'mon, Megs. One last show for the road?" He forced his servos into Megatron's hands. "Or don't you think you can get it up with our on camera audience."

_/I'm sorry,/_ Rodimus’ servos moved against his palms. _/Please go along with this./_

Chirolinguistics wasn't a skill Megatron would have thought Rodimus to posses -- but given who his amica was, maybe he should have. _/What am I going along with? If you have a way to escape do not include me./_

Rodimus leaned down and kissed him again, desperate and hard, frame shaking against Megatron's. This time Megatron kissed him back, turning the desperateness into tenderness. _/There is no escape. For any of us. Not your fault. But I need you. I want it to be you. Not one of them. I know what they'll do if they find out. They've been going into our medical ports. I need it to be you. I trust you to make it good./_

Rodimus' servos shook. There was so much terror and despair in Rodimus' field that it hurt Megatron to feel it. That didn't stop him from meshing their fields, from cradling Rodimus in his own and giving what comfort he could. Even if he didn't understand what the young Prime was asking. 

_/What do you need of me, Rodimus?/_ It couldn't really be one last frag, even Rodimus wasn't that -- hedonistic. 

_/I still have my valve seal. Prime rebuild. The first time sucked so much so I never - /_ The words broke up as a tremor went through his servos. The tremor went up through Rodimus' frame, his biolights pulsing in time, followed by the soft ‘snikt’ of his interface panel pulling back. _/Please, Megatron../_

Megatron froze. / _Why me?_ / he couldn’t help asking; he had to know, why of all the mechs there would Rodimus pick _him_ \-- it was his fault they were in this situation in the first place, both with Getaway’s organized betrayal, and with the DJD. /Why not Magnus?/

"I want it to be you," Rodimus said into his mouth. "Wanted it, but I'm a dumb coward and I didn't want to hear you say no. Or worse -- pity me. But I was -- I found a data pad -- your old poetry -- I was going to --" The young prime cut himself off by burying his face against Megatron's throat. He mouthed at Megatron's neck cables sending tremors through the larger mech.

"Rodimus," Megatron vented his name like a prayer. He freed one hand from Rodimus’ grip and stroked up across his hip, thumbing biolights as he went. His palm swift over the flaring panels of Rodimus’ back up to the fluttering bright yellow spoiler. Megatron, in another time and place, would have breathed praise into Rodimus' audial, would have made a poem of his appreciation and desire of the frame above him until the younger mech was desperate from Megatron's glyphs alone. 

He should refuse. Push Rodimus off him and pile abuse upon him. It would shield him some. Shield him as much as Megatron was able from Tarn and his fury -- he wouldn't hesitate to use anything Megatron _cared for_ as another means of torture. He traced two servos along the edge of Rodimus' spoiler listening to the soft moans and whispered trills, feeling pleasure spike in the field pressed into his. 

"Please, Megatron" Rodimus begged. 

Looking back, Megatron would pinpoint those two glyphs as his undoing.

"Yes," Megatron said softly, before angling his mouth over Rodimus'. 

He kissed Rodimus until all he could taste was rust sticks and zinc, until their fields were intertwined so thoroughly Rodimus’ fear and pleasure became his own. All the while his servos teased Rodimus' quivering spoiler and stole under flared plating to seek out sensitive seams and caress the protoform underneath.

Megatron found that stroking a bundle of wires at Rodimus' hip made him whine and squirm in a most gratifying way. Lubricant from Rodimus' valve started to drip onto Megatron's thighs, and Megatron felt it as Rodimus' spike slowly pressured. The fear had started to ebb from Rodimus' field and the first request to open his own panel popped up in his HUD. He denied it.

"I wonder if I can overload you just like this?" Megatron rumbled into Rodimus' audial. 

Rodimus hiccuped, thighs spreading wider around Megatron's hips. "We don't have time," he protested, hips twisting and rolling. Rodimus' own servos had started to seek out transformation seams and gaps under Megatron’s own flared plating. Megatron moaned openly and let Rodimus taste his own pleasure through their fields. 

Charge began to dance between their frames. 

"Trust me," Megatron murmured. His servos abandoned Rodimus' hip joint and slid lower. He skirted over Rodimus' fully pressured spike down to his dripping valve. The port wasn't as small as Megatron had feared and he smeared the heated lubricant about as he tested the edges, tapping gently against nodes that flared with heat.

Rodimus' vocalizer popped then garbled out static as the young Prime rocked down hard. Megatron's servos slipped inside -- but only slightly, the thin seal blocking further depth. Megatron spread more lubricant across it and rubbed soothingly at where it connected inside Rodimus. "Tell me if anything hurts," he commanded.

"It'll hurt no matter --"

Megatron silenced him with a kiss. "Rodimus, you will tell me if anything hurts even in the slightest. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Rodimus whined into his mouth. His intake were shallow and fast, trying to drag in more cool air than his fans seemed to be able too. Coolant started to slick his plating. 

Megatron forcefully denied and cleared another request from his own panel. His fans whined with the effort to cool his frame. "Your pleasure is sweeter than any engeron I've ever tasted. Let it consume you," he murmured. "I will catch you."

Rodimus hiccuped again, then mewled lost and desperate. His servos curled in like he was trying to anchor himself with Megatron's own frame. He shook his head slightly as Megatron kept his servos moving his circles just inside Rodimus' heat slick valve. Charge crackled, Rodimus was on the edge ready to fall on the sliver of fear left holding him back.

Megatron tapped his thumb again the front node then rubbed at it, dragging a half sob half wail from Rodimus. Then he quickly pressed his servos forward breaking the seal.

Rodimus back arched as he overloaded, frame convulsing, optics gone white, and something between a trill and Megatron's name falling from his lips.

When he slumped spent and shaking against Megatron's chassis the former Warlord wrapped his arms protectively around Rodimus' frame. Rodimus' vents were hot, even against Megatron's heated frame. He listened to Rodimus' vents slow, watched for optics to brighten and focus. "Like a sunburst, glorious, burning, a blessing," he murmured into Rodimus' audials, stroking a hand across the back of Rodimus' helm. "It humbles me and I craved to taste such fire again."

Rodimus sobbed, mouth capturing Megatron's in a messy desperate, _sorrowful_ manner. Megatron pressed reassurance and affection through his field into the shaking young Prime's above him. His hands busied themselves on Rodimus' frame, drawing pleasure back into the field twined with his. 

"Oh glorious sun, oh one of blinding light," Megatron whispered into his mouth. "May I taste your fire again, will you allow me to burn with you?"

"Yes," Rodimus whispered, even as cleansing fluid ran freely from his optics. Still he pressed his hips down, tried to spread his legs more. "Megatron, yes."

Megatron retracted his panel. Why hadn't he reached out before this when their optics would meet? Why had he turned away so many times so that _this_ was what they were left with. With torture and death only paused while they fed their captors so many more ways to hurt them

He couldn't even shield Rodimus from the optics watching through cameras. 

Couldn't protect his Prime at all.

Megatron braced his hands on Rodimus' hips as he rolled his lithe frame against Megatron's again. Shifting Rodimus' lighter speedster frame was easy even as weak as bad engeron and torture had left him. He forcibly ended every process thread that didn’t center on Rodimus.

His spike caught against the slick opening of Rodimus' port. Rodimus arched and mewled. 

"Megatron," Rodimus' panted as his fans began speeding up to full again.

He brought a hand up and framed Rodimus' face, stroking down one seam with his thumb. "Only if you wish to, Rodimus," he murmured before kissing him gently, a bare brush of lips. 

Rodimus nodded, pressing their forehelms together -- a gesture that felt more intimate than a kiss. "I want you," Rodimus told him. "I want to keep you for however long we have left."

Megatron's spark _hurt_ at that reminder. Rodimus' last moments were going to be in fear and pain and Megatron couldn't do a thing to prevent that, to protect him. "I was trying to protect you," Megatron tried to explain. Why he'd turned his back so many times, why he'd given himself over without a fight to the DJD. 

"Yeah, me too," Rodimus said with a tiny broken laugh. He shifts his hips and pressed down onto Megatron's spike. 

Digging his servos into Rodimus' hip seams he controlled the young Prime's descent. "Easy," he told him, kissing him again. His free hand was stroking Rodimus' spoiler again coaxing his engine to rev and pleasure to spill back into his field. "I would savior you." 

Maybe it had been too long since Megatron had interfaced with another mech, but he couldn't remember it ever feeling like this. Rodimus' valve was hot, wet, and snug -- rippling around him as the ridges on his spike rubbed against sensory nodes buried inside Rodimus' port. Rodimus arched his back again as he tried to get Megatron in him faster. 

"So perfect," Megatron rumbled, controlling his voice with great effort. "Let me hear you, don't hold back, Rodimus."

By the time Megatron was fully seated inside Rodimus, his control was stretched thin, but _oh_ was it worth it to have Rodimus above him, mewling with his mouth half opened, optics charge bright already.

Rodimus shook full frame and curled back down against Megatron's chassis. Charge crackled between them again, it felt too soon, it was too soon. He'd wanted to draw it out, draw out Rodimus pleasure. 

"Please," Rodimus whimpered against Megatron's chest plates, right above his spark. "Megatron, please, I can't --"

Megatron rolled his hips upward, his groan drowned out by Rodimus ecstatic cry. Rodimus grabbed at Megatron's hand, twining their servos and holding on tight. "Is it good?" He asked softly, static half grabbling parts of his words.

Rodimus seemed to understand anyways, nodding frantically. 

They kissed again as Megatron continued the slow roll of his hips driving them both further into a world that was just them. Just pleasure. He could taste his overload, could feel Rodimus' just as close.

The locks on Rodimus' chestplates clicked. "Please?" Rodimus begged, as the light of his spark spilled out even before his chest was fully retracted. He pawed at Megatron's chest seam with his free hand. "Never going to have another -- please Megatron."

He shouldn't. It would be handing Rodimus even further to Tarn on a silver platter. He wasn't worthy of such a bright spark ---

Megatron disengaged his chestplate locks and let it slide apart.

Light arched out from their sparks, reaching for the other. Pleasure spiked in Rodimus' field and Megatron heard his vocalizer pop and spit static. Megatron felt cleansing fluid running down from his optics.

_Nothing_ had ever felt like this. It was -- it was engeron after orns without. It was like coming home to a home he'd never had or known. 

_I love you,_ Rodimus' spark spoke to his.

_My Prime_ , Megatron's spark spoke back.

They both overloaded in the same moment. A rare thing even when merging sparks. Charge white hot flaring between them as Megatron held on with everything he had. His vision went white.

When he onlined his optics, Rodimus was lying across him still. Their open chests still pressed flushed as their frames pinged as they cooled. "Glorious, my brightest star, my burning sun."

Rodimus managed a sleepy laugh. "Don't need to flatter," he said after his vocalizer stopped spitting static instead of words. "You already got me into the berth." He pushed himself up on his elbows smiling down at Megatron.

His spark was still bared. 

Megatron stroked his face plates again. "I mean every word," he whispered, sudden grief threatening to choke him. "Oh, Rodimus, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, I choose this, I choose you," Rodimus assured him, leaning down for a kiss.

Rodimus' spark was so bright and Megatron found his servos traced the edges of the light it spilled. Tarn would extinguish this spark, but only after making Rodimus suffer. So much more now that -- now that they knew that Rodimus meant something to him. That hurting Rodimus would hurt Megatron more than anything physical they could inflict. 

"I love you," Rodimus murmured, optics bright, resting their forehelms together again. "I trust you, Megatron."

Megatron curled his hand around that bright warm spark. The spark of a Prime. "And I love you, my Prime."

Rodimus’ smile was as bright as his spark..

He closed his hand.

\--

 


	2. Epilogue

 

 

\--

"We received the message today… but it was sent three weeks ago," Jetfire said, regret and horror in his voice. 

Horror washed over Optimus. No -- there must be something he could do. He'd placed Megatron on that ship. He'd made Rodimus feel like he couldn't ask for help --

" _ _Optimus I know you are watching this__ ," Megatron's voice came from the screen.

Optimus optics flicked back to the monitor. Megatron’s helm was missing, the crest damaged. 

" _ _I don't care what you do with me. Melt me down, dance on my corpse -- I'm beyond caring,"__ Megatron went on. " _ _But you_ ** _ **will**_** _give Rodimus a Prime's funeral. You will make sure of this if you do nothing else. Have his monument be in Nyon. He -- make sure they don't forget him, Optimus, or I will find a way to come back and haunt you until the end of your orns."__

The camera pulled back. Megatron was holding a prone, greyed-out frame in his arms. It took Optimus far too long to realize it was Rodimus. It -- no that was wrong. Rodimus was never still, never lacking color. 

He was so __young__ still --

" _ _I loved him and I ended his spark with my own hand. Make sure they remember that too."__

Optimus fell back into a chair and covered his optics with a hand. "Jetfire, get us there," he said. "Please."

 

__End_ _

 

 

__Do not go gentle into that good night,_ _

__Old age should burn and rave at close of day;_ _

__Rage, rage against the dying of the light._ _

__Though wise men at their end know dark is right,_ _

__Because their words had forked no lightning they_ _

__Do not go gentle into that good night._ _

__Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright_ _

__Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,_ _

__Rage, rage against the dying of the light._ _

__Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,_ _

__And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,_ _

__Do not go gentle into that good night._ _

__Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight_ _

__Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,_ _

__Rage, rage against the dying of the light._ _

\- ****Dylan Thomas****

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my betas: obstinate-nocturna and harutemu.
> 
> And thank you to the whole tumblr Transformers crew for being so supportive and encouraging!


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